Bridgeport Academy #2 Page 2

  “Hey,” Jade called out, startling Zane. He pretended to do a double take when he saw her—a goofy, exaggerated act Crystal had seen him perform time and again, though she never tired of it.

  “J-dog,” Zane drawled in his irresistible Kentucky accent. He gave them both quick we’re-all-good-friends kisses on their cheeks. What the hell? She was not Zane’s friend. “Where have you been?”

  The sunlight darted through the trees overhead, casting shadows on the grass. Crystal noticed a new flirtatious tone in Jade’s voice as she spoke. Maybe Zane and Jade had hooked up at last spring, when Ben, the snoopy groundskeeper, spotted the two of them alone out on the halfway line of the soccer field after nightly check-in. Jade had nonchalantly denied it when Crystal questioned her but in her typical, evasive, could-mean-anything way. And Crystal was sure something had happened between the two of them two years ago during freshman year, when Jade threw a spring break party at her parents’ house in Alaska. But since that predated Crystal’s relationship with Zane, she couldn’t really hold it against either of them. Though it wasn’t like she could forget, either.

  “Well, it’s good to have you back.” Zane smiled, his eyelids drooping sexily. Crystal felt her insides twist at the sight of his long, dark eyelashes and gorgeous, callused hands. She remembered their roughness caressing her face. “This place has been dying for a dose of you.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Z.” Jade drew her tanned foot in a wide, slow-motion arc across the wet grass. Crystal narrowed her hazel eyes and started up the chapel’s stone steps. “Really good,” she heard Jade say behind her.

  “Mr. Taylor.” A deep baritone voice sounded from the chapel doorway. In front of Crystal stood Mr. Dalton, freshly shaven, his polished fade still damp from the shower. Crystal noticed Zane’s body stiffen. Mr. Dalton was the Disciplinary Committee’s faculty adviser, and he’d nailed Zane with probation for being in their room that night.

  “Mr. Dalton,” he replied mechanically, marching up the steps past her and then the history teacher.

  “Good morning, ladies.” Mr. Dalton nodded at them once as Zane shuffled inside. He smoothed out his maroon-and-navy-striped tie, and Crystal noticed a silver link bracelet on his wrist. Ew, wasn’t that a little girlie? Then he tilted his head toward Jade and offered her his hand. “I’m Eric Dalton. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Jade Carmichael.” She stepped onto the bottom stair and gave him her hand in response. “A pleasure.”

  “Yes.” Mr. Dalton nodded enthusiastically. “It is.”

  Crystal still couldn’t believe Naomi was doing it with a teacher. Ew! She waited for him to disappear back inside Chapel before turning back to Jade.

  “Who was that?” Jade asked excitedly, her violet eyes looking even bigger and darker than usual. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and started absentmindedly braiding it.

  “Ask Naomi,” Crystal scoffed.

  “Where is Naomi? I need to talk to her too.”

  Crystal shrugged. Let them work their own shit out. This was her turn. She grabbed her friend’s bronzed hand, readying herself to apologize before they went inside. It wasn’t something Crystal was particularly good at, but she wanted to make everything right.

  “I just wish we could’ve planned our stories out before, you know?” she began awkwardly, hugging Jade again. “I feel horrible that you got all the blame.” She felt a hot tear forming in the corner of her eye and was thankful for the waterproof mascara she’d decided on earlier, anticipating what would happen if she spotted Zane and Bree together. She buried her face in Jade’s neck.

  “Apology accepted,” Jade replied evenly, pulling back. “That just leaves one thing.”

  “What?” Crystal blinked away the tear.

  “Who’s that bitch in my bed?”

  “Oh, that’s Bree,” Crystal replied.

  “You’re going to help me move her stuff, right?”

  Crystal smiled. “Totally.”

  RyanReynolds: You at Chapel yet? I’m trying to get close to that Bree girl. She just snuck in the back door and damn, her skirt is SHORT!

  MauriceJohnson: Guess who I just saw?

  RyanReynolds: Bree? Save me a seat, bro.

  MauriceJohnson: Nope even better. Jade fucking SMOKING HOT Carmichael. And I have to tell you, it’s a sweeeeeeeeeeeet sight.

  RyanReynolds: Are you fucking with me? I thought that was just a rumor she was coming back.

  MauriceJohnson: Looks like the real thing to me…

  RyanReynolds: Send me a pic with your phone ASAP.

  MauriceJohnson: Sorry chump. Camera's broke. And I wouldn’t share if I did. She and Crystal look like they’re busy kissing and making up…

  RyanReynolds: You definitely need to get your camera fixed.

  3

  Naomi Peterson stood outside the door to room 303, her pointy ivory-colored ankle boots squeezing her toes. She could hear Jade’s hoarse, sexy voice on the other side of the door, bitching to Crystal about how Naomi was taking up too much closet space. Naomi reread the note her new roommate, Bree, had written on the door’s whiteboard, her whole body trembling with anticipation at the thought of seeing Jade again.

  Happy Tuesday! Dinner tonight after practice?—B

  Bree was just so...sincere, like she cared way more about being happy than cool and like she wasn’t interested in who your parents were or if they, say, lived in New Jersey or East Hampton. She was basically as different from Jade as anyone could possibly be. Naomi couldn’t stop worrying that it was probably only a matter of time before Jade informed everyone on campus about Naomi’s family. Naomi had told everyone her mom and dad had an organic farm in the Hamptons, but the truth was her dad did boob jobs and tummy tucks for a living while her mom reupholstered their Rumson, New Jersey, living room furniture in clashing animal prints.

  Even though it hadn’t been Crystal or Naomi’s fault that Jade had been kicked out—neither of them had ratted her out, even though they’d both spent the summer assuming the other had—Naomi knew she’d blame them. She rolled her head around on her neck like a boxer getting ready for a fight and pushed open the heavy oak door.

  Jade stood in the middle of the room, tall and model thin, wearing a strapless silk minidress beneath her maroon Bridgeport jacket. Naomi didn’t believe in superstitious insanity like auras, but it sure felt like Jade was radiating something.

  “Well, well,” Jade said coolly. “Nice to see you, Naomi.”

  Naomi smoothed her jeans, unsure if she should go over and give Jade a hug. She had never dealt well with people being mad at her—especially people who might very well spill your deepest, darkest secret just for shits and giggles. “You look fabulous as usual, Jade.”

  Crystal cleared her throat and slid a thick textbook into her black nylon Prada schoolbag. Her hair was in its usual messy after-practice bun and her hockey clothes were balled up next to the closet. Naomi had skipped practice, claiming to have cramps—Coach Smail was super-squeamish when it came to anything period-related—and sat outside Stansfield Hall, hoping to “casually” bump into Eric Dalton leaving his office. No luck.

  He might be a teacher and the Disciplinary Committee adviser, but he was also the most incredible…man…Naomi had ever met. Last week, after the big Black Saturday game, she’d been absolutely sure that she was ready to lose her virginity to Eric. But then she’d chickened out and run off Eric’s yacht and directly into her ex-boyfriend, Corey, who went to nearby St. Lucius Academy. Oops.

  “I’ll let you two get reacquainted,” Crystal muttered before heading toward the door. Naomi really wished Crystal wouldn’t leave. Even if things had been strained between the two of them, Naomi was a little scared to be left alone with Jade. What if she’d already told Crystal she was really just a tacky Jersey girl? What if they’d re-bonded over how idiotically fire-engine red Naomi had dyed her hair? What if Jade burned a hole in her soul with her freaky violet eyes?


  “Thanks for helping me with my stuff, Crys.” Jade puckered her bee-stung lips and made an exaggerated air smooch before she gently closed the door behind her. Naomi wondered if Crystal would stick around to eavesdrop on their conversation like Naomi had. Probably.

  Jade’s Louis Vuitton luggage was piled onto her old bed, and a tiny metal-framed cot, sagging slightly in the middle, was pushed into the corner where the girls normally stashed their trash can. Bree’s comforter and sheets were tangled in a ball on top of it. One of her pillows was on the floor.

  Jade looked at Naomi, standing ramrod straight across the room. What was her fucking deal? She couldn’t even muster up a little excitement about seeing her old best friend back where she belonged,especially after she had saved her ass? Where was the gratitude? The respect? The fawning? She had just gotten back from another hemisphere, for Christ’s sake, not the dining hall. “You’re looking pale,” Jade finally initiated.

  Naomi walked over to her desk and draped her size-two Bridgeport blazer over her chair. “I’m not feeling well,” she replied primly.

  Jade tugged at the zipper on her signature leather garment bag and pulled out an armful of chiffon and silk. She narrowed her carefully made-up eyes at Naomi as she walked to the closet and slid Naomi’s things out of the way. It made Jade think of all the times the three of them had faked day passes from their parents and taken the train into the city to shop at Barneys and the boutiques in Soho. Jade even spotted the silver Missoni slip dress she’d dared her to shoplift from Saks.

  Fuck you, Jade wanted to yell. Just apologize and kiss my ass a little so we can all be friends again! But Naomi was just standing there stubbornly, running her finger along the collection of small gold hoops in her left ear. What did she have to be pissed about?

  “Still going out with Corey?” Jade finally asked.

  “That’s over.” Naomi cleared her throat and willed herself not to think about Eric Dalton. Jade had some sort of extrasensory perception when it came to secrets, and as soon as she sensed anything sneaky, she’d latch on until she’d uncovered every juicy detail.

  “Oh, yeah? So, who’s the next victim?” Jade asked pointedly, thinking of Mr. Dalton and his smooth brown skin and monogrammed platinum cuff links and the way Crystal suggested she ask Naomi about him. She knew her friends, and she knew what that meant. He had to be quite a score for a closeted Jersey girl like Naomi.

  “That remains to be seen.” Naomi turned to start gathering her books. “Look, I’m on my way to Benny’s to study. I was just stopping by to get some things,” she lied.

  Jade bristled. Since when did Naomi care more about hitting the books with horse-faced Benny Cunningham than welcoming back her long-lost friend?

  “I was going to check out what Amir and Maurice were doing anyway,” Jade responded casually. Now, there would be some faces happy to see her. She grabbed her oversized tangerine-colored Prada tote and headed for the door. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  She shut it loudly, scattering the girls who had been eavesdropping, and waited in the hall until she heard Naomi murmur, “Bitch.”

  Bitch? she mused, clicking down the hall. Well, we’ll see what Mr. Too-fine-to-be-a-teacher Dalton thinks of bitches.

  JadeCarmichael: Wts the deal with the insanely fine new guy?

  BennyCunningham: The super-tall one from Seattle? Looks delicious but he’s a freshman! Unfair right?

  JadeCarmichael: This dude is definitely not a freshman. Dalton or something?

  BennyCunningham: U mean MISTER Dalton? He’s a history teacher and does DC.

  JadeCarmichael: I think he’s my adviser.

  BennyCunningham: Lucky bitch. I heard he and Naomi were playing footsie at the last DC meeting.

  JadeCarmichael: Interesting…

  To: BriannaHargrove@Bridgeport.edu

  From: RufusHargrove@poetsonline.com

  Date: Tuesday, September 9, 3:14 p.m.

  Subject: New phone

  Hello, my jalapeño pumpkin fritter,

  I got your letter from last week. I’m still amazed by the whole email system. Incredible!

  Mekhi is settling into Evergreen. He hasn’t ended up in the infirmary with a case of alcohol poisoning or spinal meningitis or homesickness yet, so I think we’re off to a good start.

  So you asked for an iPhone or an iPad or something? I didn’t know what this was, so I asked Yasmine—she’s living in your room, did I remember to tell you that?—and she brought me to the cell phone store. I waxed philosophical quotes and showed off my rainbow suspenders, so the salesgirl cut me a deal. And you think I have no fashion sense. Keep an eye out for a duct-taped shoe box coming via snail mail!

  Love you to the moon,

  Dad

  4

  Bree jogged back to Dumbarton after field hockey practice, enjoying the wholesome ache in her muscles and the view of the sprawling green campus, the ancient brick buildings, the preppy students. All the required exercise she was getting made her feel like one of the tall, lean, silky-haired girls doing playful cartwheels on the Bridgeport Academy Web site, though her hair was wild and curly and she was barely five feet tall. After fifteen years in New York City, she’d been shocked to discover she possessed any degree of athletic talent beyond hailing a taxi, but here she was, playing varsity field hockey at boarding school.

  She wanted to call up her brother in Washington to brag as soon as she got her new cell phone, but she knew Mekhi wouldn’t be at all impressed. He’d probably accuse her of being a cliché or something equally mean. Bree inhaled the late-afternoon air, with its hints of freshly mown grass and woodstove burning off in the distance. She swore she could smell the leaves changing color. She decided to email Mekhi later about the leaves and not mention the exercise. He was a poet. Poets liked leaves.

  “Hey, sexy,” a lazy, stoned-sounding voice called out. Bree whirled around and saw Maurice Johnson lying on his back on one of the long stone benches that were artfully scattered across campus, each with a plaque naming the Bridgeport alum who had donated it. “Why don’tcha come over here and sit down?” He patted his lap. “Where are you running to, anyway?”

  “Away from you!” Bree called playfully without stopping. She’d kissed him inside the chapel on her very first night at Bridgeport, and then he’d told everyone they’d done a lot more than that. Apparently Maurice really got around, so much so the girls had taken to calling him Pony because, as it had been somewhat ickily explained to her, he got more ass than a pony at the country fair.

  She might still be upset about it, but then she’d managed to turn it all back around during the biggest field hockey game of the fall, called Black Saturday, when Bridgeport played its rival St. Lucius. Crystal had given her some made-up lyrics to a cheer that were kind of dirty and a little embarrassing, but Bree had gotten so into them that she’d spontaneously added a line of her own. She sang it to herself now as she ran along the ancient stone path leading up to Dumbarton: “There is a boy who they call Pony! He’s always acting gross and horny! He thinks he’s got a lot down there, but he sure wears tiny underwear!” She’d gotten back at Maurice with that, and even if Maurice was a sleazebag, it still felt good to be able to catch the eye of one of the best-looking guys at Bridgeport. God, she loved this place!

  Bree rushed into room 303 with her adrenaline still high and found her roommate Naomi sitting on the window ledge, staring at an owl perched in the maple tree across the lawn. “Hey, Naomi,” she greeted her, still out of breath. That’s when she saw her bed was covered with Louis Vuitton luggage. Bree almost yelped. “Whose stuff is that on my bed?”

  “I think Jade’s been rearranging things,” Naomi offered quietly. “I thought you knew…”

  “I knew she was here, but I didn’t know she was going to just move my stuff like that!” Their encounter that morning had been brief and startlingly unpleasant. Now the sight of her neatly made bed stripped and piled high wit
h Jade’s expensive luggage and her own blankets crumpled up and tossed onto a flimsy, sagging cot made her furious. She picked her pillow up off the floor and slapped the dust off it while she tried to calm herself down. “That’s just not fair.”

  Naomi shrugged and held her eyelids closed for a moment. “I really can’t picture Jade sleeping on a cot, though…”

  Ugh! She’d never known anyone with violet eyes, except for Elizabeth Taylor, who was one of the most beautiful movie stars she could imagine before she got old and kind of fat, but Bree didn’t care how beautiful Jade was—this was just plain mean. But if it made Jade happy to have her old bed back, then she might as well have it. Bree just wished she’d asked first and that she herself didn’t have to sleep on a cot that smelled like the musty basement it must have just come from.

  “We missed you at practice today,” Bree said, perching on her saggy, stupid cot to take off her soggy field hockey socks. Then she felt like a phony because she hadn’t even noticed that Naomi wasn’t at practice until she walked into their dorm room and saw her sitting there, still dressed in her tight green cashmere sweater and ivory ankle boots. It was Tuesday, and Bree had had her portraiture class before practice, meaning she had spent the afternoon sitting next to Zane, drawing and sharing glances and passing notes, and for the rest of the afternoon she had been unable to think of anything but him. Just being near him made Bree feel kind of blissful and totally forgetful about things...like how he was still going out with Crystal.